To Watch You Sleep
by roxierocks
Summary: Severus finds something unexpected...You and Me Series 10


disc: don't own it, don't sue me

warnings: a bit of slash, a bit of swearing

a/n: thanks for your reviews on "Valentine, Be Mine", i think it was one of my favourites! this is going to be the last story in the "You and Me" series, i just felt it was the right time to bring it to a close. hopefully this will be a perfect ending (i tried!) and you'll all enjoy it. I'll keep writing harry and sev of course (duh), but will be starting on some new ideas, etc. thanks sooo much to everyone who's ever reviewed, you all kept me writing when i had a big block! well, here it is, the last "You and Me" ever. as always, enjoy!

I like to watch you sleep at night, to hear you breath by my side. And although sleep leaves me behind, there's nowhere I'd rather be. -Dido

It is almost midnight before you can escape.

You're exhausted, but you're brain refuses to rest, the thoughts and events of the day flitting through your mind. The argument –or over heated discussion as you prefer to call it- with Minerva during the staff meeting didn't help. You _could_ control your house if you wanted to; only you find it rather builds character to let them run riot in their common room. Not to mention that it irritates her beyond belief.  

On entering your rooms you hesitate at your whisky cabinet, before passing it by with a regretful sigh. Drinking won't help your fatigue, unfortunately, but will help you oversleep.

For a split second your hand grips your wand, hidden in the folds of your robes, as you glimpse the undistinguishable lump in your bed, but almost immediately you recognise the lump, and your hand relaxes, a small smile even gracing your lips.

You hadn't expected to see him tonight; you know he's been tired lately (although he refuses to admit it) and something stirs inside of you to see him here, waiting for you.

For you.

You don't dwell to analyse your feelings, but step closer, sitting carefully on the edge of the mattress. Just watching.

He is peaceful in sleep, a rare occurrence these days. You find yourself sleeping less and less as he wakes you every night, lost in the throes of some torturous dream. And you've learnt to hold him, although it scares you, and to listen to his frenzied breathing, which scares you even more because there is nothing you can do. Nothing.

And then you start to question why it scares you so much, and you realize just how greatly you care, which scares you even more.

But none of that now.

You sigh, a contented sigh you realise with reproach, and at that moment are just satisfied to watch him, nothing more.

His lips are parted slightly, hair tousled, the blackness blending into the midnight blue of the pillow. One hand is curled into a fist, resting by his cheek.

You reach out cautiously, your hand stroking a tendril of ebony, a smooth, pale cheek.

The skin is soft beneath your fingertips; you trace cherry lips with a thumb.

He smiles sleepily and you hold your breath, but he does not wake.

You undress, slipping beneath the covers, winding your arms around his waist, surprising yourself by the sudden need to be close to him.

You breathe in the scent of him, burying your nose in his hair, tracing your lips down his bare shoulder blade.

He stirs in your arms.

"Mmm," he murmurs, lacing his fingers with yours. "I missed you." 

You stroke your thumb across his palm. "I'm here now."

"I know. You always will be."

The words send suspicious warmth through your body.

How did it come to this? How did you get so far? How did you become so lost?

He snuggles back against you, turning his head slightly so you can see the dark fan of lashes against the fair skin.

Hmm. Maybe not so lost.

Eyes closed, he lifts your joined hands to his mouth, kissing the underside of your wrist in a surprisingly intimate gesture.

Another flood of warmth.

"Can I ask where you've been?" he says.

"A staff meeting," you reply, unable to keep the fatigue out of your voice.

He shifts, turning in your locked embrace, regarding you with sleepy green eyes.

"Poor you."

Your mouth automatically lifts into a sneer, but at the last second you twist it into a smile. He notices, a laugh escaping, a sweet, perfect sound.

He untangles a hand, lifting a finger to trace your lips, mirroring you own actions from only moments before. He is staring at your lips, seems fascinated by them, moving his head closer-

Oh.

You feel the heat of his mouth, quick, chaste.

He smiles softly, then leans toward you again.

You wait for the warmth, but instead feel him kiss your nose, again in that quick, tender manner.

He pulls back and you gaze at him, unable to summon your customary glare.

He grins slightly, leans forward, and you feel the most unfamiliar sensation of your eyelids being kissed, the lightest of touches.

He smiles, settling back against you arms, eyes closed, the image of a cat basking in the sun.

"This is it," he says.

"This is what?" you ask, perplexity wrinkling your forehead.

"Everything," he whispers.

It scares you to know exactly what he means.

"Do you ever think about the future?" he asks.

"I try not to."

There's a pause.

"Me too. I want to stay here, in this moment, forever. I don't want to have to wake up tomorrow and face life. To face all the danger and struggle. I just want…"

"To be free?"

His eyes open, surprise glimmering in the sea-like depths. "Yes."

"Perhaps that is what all of us wish for, whether we realise it or not. But to be totally free, to be without rules or boundaries or guidance, is not always a good thing."

Bitterness twists his face. "And to have your life dictated for you, that's better?"

"No," you reply calmly. "It isn't. But how do you know if you are free? How do you really know what freedom is?"

You can see him trying to grasp the idea.

"Do you know?" he asks.

You smile, sadly, thinking of all the misguided freedom you have experienced in your life, each an unforgiving disappointment.

"No. And perhaps I never will."

"Then perhaps I never will either."

"Perhaps," you agree. "But there is more chance for you that there ever was for me."

"Do you truly believe that?" he asks. "Is that how you feel? I have more chance because I'm Harry Potter, The Boy Who Fucking Lived?"

You decide to overlook the obscenity.

"That's not what I said."

Silence.

"I know," he says finally. "I'm just feeling a bit…"  
"Lost?"

He laughs slightly. "Yeah, lost."

His eyes are suddenly cloudy, confused, afraid.

"Harry," you say softly.

He focuses on you.

"You may never be free from yourself, but freedom from the things, the people that hold authority over you, hold fear over you, you can achieve."

"Because I have the power?" he asks sarcastically.

"Yes," you reply simply.

The fear returns.

"How do you know?" he asks.

"Because I have felt it." You place a single finger over his chest, over his heart. "Here."

He gazes at you for a moment, then smiles.

"Well, I suppose if I don't do it, no one will."

"True. You really are…unique."

He raises an eyebrow in a fair imitation of yourself. 

"Unique?" he asks. "That's the best you could come up with?"

"The best you would want to hear."

"Haha."

He studies you, contemplatively.

"If I tell you I love you, will you throw me out of bed?"

You resist an unfamiliar desire to laugh. "No." When did it become no?

"Good."

He settles his head against your chest. "I love you."

You don't say anything; you never do. But perhaps he's become used to that now. The thought startles you, producing a sudden wave of sorrow. Is that what you want? For him to become used to things? To never really be happy?

"Is this what you truly want?" The words are out of your mouth before you can think of their implications, of what they might produce. But then it's too late to take them back.

He lifts his head. "What?"

"This." You gesture vaguely round the room. "Me."

He looks surprised, eyes widening. "Of course it is."

"Is it?" 

He's sitting now, you both are, and you watch him, his reaction, a sliver of hardness glinting in your eyes.

"Will you be happy? Can you honestly say you will be happy in a one sided relationship?"

"It isn't one sided!" he protests.

"Isn't it? You know I will never be able to respond to you in the way you wish. That I will never be openly affectionate, never want to live in a house with roses round the door-"

"I don't want a house with roses round the door!" he snaps, eyes flashing. "I want you!"

"But will I be enough?" you ask quietly.

He opens his mouth to respond, then closes it again.

You've seen the glimmer of doubt in his eyes. The doubt you've awakened. It would have happened sooner or later. Better now.

"Are you breaking up with me?"

You try not to sneer at the phrase, but you feel the twitch of you lips and he blinks as if he's been slapped. Damn.

There's no going back now.

"Breaking up?" you repeat, letting the sneer take over now, retreating behind you oh-so-cold mask. "Were you under the impression that we were doing anything more than fucking?"

He openly winces. You never curse.

"Stop it," he says quietly.

You laugh. Cold heartless.

"Did you really think that this meant anything?"

"I…I…" He avoids you eyes, helpless, lost.

Your heart stabs.

Then he looks at you. And something changes in his eyes. A light.

"You're doing it again."

You blink.

"Doing what exactly," you drawl.

But he isn't deceived by your tone.

"You're pushing me away again. This is just like Valentine's Day. For Heaven's sake. WHEN WILL YOU GROW UP?"

You're startled by the sudden rise of his voice. He's angry. And can you blame him?

He leaps out of bed, reaching for his trousers in a heap on the floor, pulling them on with jerky, uncoordinated movements.

"You can't just be content, can you? You can't just be happy. You always have to try and screw things up. Well I can't STAND it anymore. It isn't FAIR. You can't keep doing this to me."

He stops suddenly, crumpling to the floor in a pathetic heap, trousers tangled around his legs.

His shoulders shake slightly. Is he crying?  
"Don't make me do this," he whispers. "Don't make me leave, I don't want to. But I can't carry on like this. I can't."

You know he can't. And what's more you know you can't.

 "Harry, I-"

You break off, unsure. What do, to say? How to make amends?

Or do you let him walk away, let him go, be free?

The seconds lengthen, the tension stretching like an elastic band, soon to snap and release all hell.

You open your mouth. To let him go, to tell him to move on. To forget you.

"I love you."

Your mouth snaps shut, you blink in surprise.

Did you just say…?

He's staring at you, eyes wide, disbelieving.

"Did you just say that you…you love me?"

"I…" you shake your head, at a loss for words. "I think so."

You look at him, curled on the floor, hope written on his features like a banner. This boy, this man, the only one who has ever been able to break through your defences, to love you. And be loved by you.

"Yes," you whisper. "I did, I do. I love you."

The words are strange and foreign in your mouth, but at the same time produce a sweetness, a deliciousness like nothing you've ever known before.

He doesn't ask you if you're sure, he doesn't doubt you.

He kicks off his trousers, and climbs back into bed beside you.

"Good," he murmurs, burying his face against your neck. "I didn't really want to have to go all the way back to Gryffindor tower."

You hold him carefully, gently, almost afraid he will break in your arms, or change his mind suddenly and abandon you after all.

But he doesn't.

He falls asleep, head tilting back, exposing his pale, smooth neck.

You bend to kiss it.

As you watch him you remember what he asked you, thinking about the future. You were being honest; you try not to think about it, because you always feared what it may hold. And you are still afraid. He will be going soon, out of the castle, out into the world. But not out of your life. And you will be there for him, whenever, wherever he may need you.

He is smiling in his sleep, and this prompts your own smile. How can you ever really express your feelings, this perfect sense of completion you feel when you look at him?

"I love you."

Like that.


End file.
